Episode 20: Eyewitness Identification
by heisey
Summary: Jim and Marty clash when a case depends on eyewitness identifications.
1. Chapter 1

**Episode 20: Eyewitness Identification**

_Day One_

_Scene One_

"Hey, Jim!" A voice called from the fire station, interrupting Jim's walk to the 8th Precinct from the subway.

Jim ordered Hank to stop and turned toward the voice. "Hey, Dean," he replied.

"Got a minute?" Dean Bostic asked him. "I'll buy you a cup of firehouse coffee."

"Sure," Jim agreed, ordering Hank to follow Dean across the bay and into the station.

As they climbed the stairs to the station's second-floor kitchen, Jim asked, "How're the repairs going on your building?"

"Slowly," Dean replied. "I tell you, I'd rather deal with Russo than my insurance company."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah."

When they were both seated at the kitchen table with cups of coffee, Jim turned to Dean and asked, "How's Pete doing?"

"Well," Dean answered, "that's the reason I wanted to talk to you."

"Is he having problems on the job?"

"No, no, he's doing a great job," Dean assured him. "But, you know, he's working the night shift, and two nights ago, he got mugged on the way to work."

"Oh, no. Is he OK?"

"Not really. The guy smacked him pretty good – hit him with his gun, apparently, and knocked him out, and he's kinda concussed. And – well, he hasn't said anything about it, but I think his eyesight's gotten worse since."

Jim shook his head. "Damn. Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, there is. Pete talked to a robbery detective, but from what Pete told me, it sounded like the guy was just phoning it in. He even told Pete there wasn't much he could do, because Pete wouldn't be able to ID the guy, even if they caught him."

Frowning, Jim asked, "Who's the detective? Did Pete give you a name?"

"Mike something – I think it's an Italian last name."

"Ciccone?"

"That's it. Do you know him?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm surprised – he doesn't seem like the type to just phone it in. I'll talk to him. I'll talk to Pete, too. Think he'd be up for a visit?"

"From you? Absolutely."

"I'd better get going, then. Thanks for the coffee." Jim stood and grasped Hank's harness. "Stairs straight ahead?"

"Yeah, straight ahead, about ten feet," Dean confirmed. Jim ordered Hank forward and took a few steps toward the stairwell, before Dean spoke again. "Jim?"

Jim stopped and turned toward him.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem," Jim replied as he started down the stairs.

_Scene Two_

"Mike?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, Jim, over here." Mike Ciccone looked up from his computer when he heard Jim call his name. Dark-haired and short but powerfully built, he was a eight-year veteran of the force who had transferred to the 8th Precinct a few months before Jim was assigned there. Jim let Hank guide him through the maze of desks that made up the Robbery Detail, until they reached Mike's desk. "What can I do for you?" the robbery detective asked when Jim was standing next to his desk.

"You caught a mugging a couple of nights ago," Jim told him. "I know the victim – a blind kid, name of Pete Steckle. You getting anywhere with it?"

"Uh, sorry, Jim – not really. It looks like it's part of a series of muggings that've gone down in the same area around 10th and Avenue A over the last couple weeks. We just caught another one last night. They all have the same m.o. – victim walking alone around midnight, perp comes up from behind, sticks a gun in their back, if they try to resist, he hits them with the gun, takes their money, and splits. It's probably a junkie getting money for his next fix."

"Yeah," Jim agreed.

"Last night's victim wasn't so lucky. He tried to resist, apparently, and got shot. We don't know if he's going to make it or not."

Jim frowned. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Did you get anything useful from Pete?"

"Not really." Mike paused and looked thoughtfully at Jim before continuing. "No offense, Jim, but it's not like he's gonna be able to ID the guy. And I gotta tell you, he didn't seem all that sharp when I talked to him."

Jim's stomach churned. Keeping his expression impassive, he shook his head. "You're wrong, Mike. He's a bright kid. But he'd just been mugged and knocked out when you talked to him. I'll talk to him – I'm going to check on him today anyway. Maybe he'll remember something that'll help."

"Okay," Mike replied doubtfully. "Let me know if you get anything."

_Scene Three_

Karen looked up from her computer screen and saw Jim and Hank walking into the squad. "Mornin', Jim. Where've you been?"

He took off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down and answered her. "I stopped off at the fire station. Dean wanted to talk to me."

"Dean Bostic?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he want?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You remember Pete Steckle?"

"Yeah, sure. What's up with him?"

"He's been working for Dean, at his car service – "

Karen's eyes widened. "You did that?"

Jim looked embarrassed. "Well. . . ."

"Sorry, Jim, I didn't mean to interrupt," Karen told him. "Go on."

"Anyway, Pete's been working nights at Dean's car service, and he got mugged on the way to work two nights ago."

"Oh, no. Is he all right?"

"I'm not sure. Dean said he had a concussion. If the boss can give me the time, I'm going to go over and check on him today."

"Who caught the mugging?"

"Mike Ciccone."

"Good. He's a good guy," Karen commented.

"Well," Jim lowered his voice and leaned toward her. "That's part of what Dean wanted to talk to me about."

Karen rolled her chair toward him, looking around the squad room to confirm no one was nearby. "It's OK," she told him, "go ahead."

"Pete felt Mike wasn't going to do much with it, because – well, because Pete's blind. Dean said he told Pete it wouldn't do any good to catch the guy, because Pete couldn't ID him. Mike said the same thing to me just now."

"Oh." Karen leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. Hadn't the other detectives at the 8th learned _anything_ in the past nine months? She knew Jim wouldn't have shown any reaction to Mike's comment, but hearing this kind of thing over and over had to get to him. She let it go. It would only embarrass Jim if she said anything.

Jim stood up and started toward Fisk's office.

"Jim?"

He stopped and turned back toward Karen. "Yeah."

"You want me to come to Pete's with you?"

"No, but thanks." He continued on toward Fisk's office.

_Scene Four_

Jim knocked on Pete's door. "Pete," he called, "it's Jim Dunbar."

The door opened. "Detective!" Pete greeted him. "Come in, it's good to see you."

"I heard about the mugging," Jim explained as he and Hank walked into the living room. "How you doin'?"

Pete answered as Jim found the couch and sat down. "I'm OK. I guess Dean told you about the mugging, huh? He told me he was going to talk to you."

"Yeah, he did," Jim confirmed.

Pete sat on a chair opposite the couch. "To tell you the truth, I'm going kinda stir-crazy," he admitted. "I don't want to be stuck here – I need to get back to work, and back to my training."

"Yeah. How's that going?"

"Great. My O & M instructor says I'm a really fast learner. . . ."

As Pete talked about his training, Jim reflected on how far Pete had come since they first met. Isolated, depressed, and denying his blindness, Pete had spent his days in his trashed apartment, believing his life was over. Jim was gratified to hear the pride in Pete's voice at all he'd accomplished in such a short time. He usually avoided thinking about the first weeks and months after the shooting which had taken his sight, but Pete's words took him back to the time when he began to realize he could do it, after all – he could learn to live with his blindness. Now Pete was learning the same thing.

When Pete finished describing his latest orientation and mobility lesson, Jim changed the subject. "You know, Pete, this isn't just a social call."

"I didn't think it was, Detective. You want to know about the mugging, right?

"Right, and it's 'Jim,' Pete."

"Wha – oh, OK. But what's the use?" Pete asked, in the same hopeless tone that Jim had heard in their first conversations. "The robbery guy basically told me he wasn't gonna try to find the guy, since I can't ID him."

"Yeah, I know. He told me the same thing. But let's go over it anyway. Maybe you'll remember something that can help. You're not the only one who's been mugged by this guy, you know."

"No, I didn't know that." Pete paused, thinking. "Well, I really didn't see anything. Maybe, if it had been during the day . . . well, I'm not seeing much anymore, even during the day," he admitted, "but my night vision is basically shot, you know?"

"Yeah, RP does that. Did you get any impression of the guy's size?"

"About my height, I think. And when he grabbed me, and then when I tried to get away, he felt kinda skinny."

"So – about 5'8", thin build?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Pete confirmed.

"Did he say anything?" Jim asked.

Pete thought for a moment before answering. "Something like, this is a real gun, keep quiet and you won't get hurt." He paused, then continued. "He sounded like a black guy, but there was something. . . he didn't sound like he was from around here. He had an accent – Southern, maybe."

"That's good," Jim encouraged him. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, there is. When I was trying to get away, he was breathing real hard, kind of wheezing. I remember thinking maybe he was having an asthma attack, or something, and I could get away. But then he hit me, I guess with the gun . . . was it a real gun?"

"Yeah, it was," Jim replied, thinking of the mugger's latest victim. "Next time – if there is a next time – don't try to be a hero, OK?" He stood up. "I have to get back to the squad. You've been a big help, Pete. Thanks."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Jim confirmed.

He grasped Hank's harness and ordered him forward, but Pete's voice stopped him before he reached the door. "Can I ask you something, Det – uh, I mean, Jim?"

"Sure."

"That robbery guy – he talked to me like I was some kind of dummy, you know, real loud and slow, like I'm stupid or something. And, you know, sometimes people talk about me like I'm not there."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"You get that, too?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you do when that happens?"

Jim shrugged, forgetting Pete couldn't see the gesture. "Mostly, I try to ignore it."

"It doesn't get to you?"

"Yeah, it does, sometimes," Jim admitted. "But, you know, Pete, when that happens, it doesn't matter what you say. They aren't going to hear you anyway."

"I guess," Pete replied, sounding a little doubtful.

Jim ordered Hank forward and started toward the door again. "Let me know how you're doing, okay?"

"I will – and thanks."

_Scene Five_

"Jim!" Jim stopped on his way to the elevator when he heard Mike Ciccone's voice. "You find out anything?"

"Yeah, I did," Jim answered, turning toward the Robbery Detail.

When he reached Mike's desk, Mike spoke before Jim could tell him what he'd learned from Pete. "My boss just got a call from the hospital. Last night's victim died about half an hour ago. So it's Homicide's case now."

Jim felt a surge of anger at the victim's senseless death, immediately followed by relief it hadn't been Pete. "I better get upstairs, then. Can I fill you in later?" he asked as he headed toward the elevator.

"Sure."

Karen saw Jim and Hank out of the corner of her eye and looked up from her computer. "We caught a new case while you were gone," she told him.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, "Mike told me, downstairs."

"Marty and Tom went to the hospital. The boss wants us to go over the reports on the muggings and get up to speed."

"OK."

"How's Pete doing?"

"Pretty good, considering."

"Did he give you anything on the mugging?"

"Yeah, he did," Jim replied as he reached his desk and sat down. He summarized what Pete had told him about the mugger, then asked, "How does that compare with what the other victims say?"

"It seems pretty consistent. But I gotta tell you, none of these people got a good look at the guy. We don't really have a good description. And now he's a killer."

"Yeah," Jim agreed, holding out a hand. "I'll start on some of those reports. We need to get going on this."

_Scene Six_

A half hour later, Marty and Tom returned to the squad. Fisk came out of his office when he saw them arrive. "What've you got?"

Marty crossed to his desk and sat down before answering. "Victim was Chris D'Elia, 34 years old. He was a nurse, worked the 3-11 shift on the surgical floor at Bellevue. He was on his way home from work when he got mugged."

Tom picked up the narrative. "He had a GSW to the head, but believe it or not, he was awake and talking when they brought him in to the ER. What he told them fits the pattern – perp came up from behind, grabbed him, pushed a gun in his back, demanded his wallet. Chris tried to get out of the hold, the gun went off."

"The guy was shot in the head, and he was talking?" Karen asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, it can happen sometimes – there's like a delayed reaction or something. Ask your partner, he's our resident expert," Marty replied, jerking his head in Jim's direction. "I'll bet you, after he got shot, he gave a full statement on the way to the hospital."

Fisk frowned in annoyance. Karen glared at Marty, then glanced over at Jim. She saw his jaw tighten, but he just shook his head and answered, "Nope."

"So where do we go from here?" Fisk asked, anxious to get the discussion back on track.

Marty answered,"I'm thinking we re-interview the other mugging victims, see if we can get a better description of the perp. Or maybe there's something they didn't remember when Robbery talked to them."

"Maybe visit the scenes, see if we can find anything," Karen suggested.

"Crime scene didn't go out?" Tom asked.

"For street muggings? Not likely," Fisk replied. "Any ideas, Jim?"

"No."

"OK," Fisk told them, "hit it."

After Fisk returned to his office, Marty headed for the locker room for a cup of coffee. Tom followed, closing the door behind them. Standing with his arms folded, he watched Marty pour a cup of coffee before he spoke. "You know, bro, you can be a real asshole sometimes."

Marty set his coffee cup down and turned toward his partner. "What d'you mean?"

"What you just said to Jim. The guy got shot in the head and almost died, for chrissake, and woke up blind."

"Dunbar's a tough guy, he can take it," Marty asserted.

"I know. He has to take shit all the time – from other people. He shouldn't have to take it from _us_. You owe him an apology."

"I don't owe Dunbar a damn thing. C'mon, we got work to do." Marty picked up his coffee cup and headed back to his desk. With an irritated frown, Tom watched him go.

_Scene Seven_

Mike Ciccone sprinted up the stairs to the homicide detectives' squad room. "Jim," he called out from the hall, "you're not gonna believe this."

Jim took out his earpiece and turned toward Mike, tilting his head.

"We got the mugger. He's downstairs."

"That's great. How'd you collar him?"

"Oh, man, Christmas came early," Mike said, sitting at the desk opposite Jim's. "We were re-interviewing one of the victims, Lidia Hernandez. All of a sudden, she got real quiet. Then she pointed at a perp Narcotics was taking to Central Booking. She said, 'That guy over there – he kinda looks like him.'"

Jim leaned back in his chair, looking deflated. "Let me get this straight. She sees a guy in handcuffs in the police station, and she says he 'kinda looks like' the mugger?"

"Yeah, that's right. What, you think there's a problem?"

"Does the guy look anything like the description she gave?"

"Well," Mike replied slowly, "she didn't give us much of a description. But I gotta tell you, Jim, the way she reacted when she saw him, I think he's our guy."

"Who is he?"

"Tyree Williams. He has a coupla collars for drug sales – that's what they were taking him in for when she spotted him."

Karen spoke up. "What's he look like?"

"He's black, about 6'1", muscular build, shaved head, lots of tattoos, mid-twenties."

"Does that match the descriptions from any of the other mugging victims?"

"Well, none of them got a good look at him, because he came at them from behind, and it was dark."

"Did you talk to him?" Jim asked.

"A little," Mike answered. "He didn't have much to say when he found out we were looking at him for a homicide."

"Did you notice any kind of an accent?"

"Not really."

"Can he account for his whereabouts last night?" Karen asked.

"He hasn't said," Mike told her. "Like I said, he isn't saying much."

"Did you find any of the mugging victims' property on him?"

"No, but he only took cash, so – "

Jim turned to Karen. "Let's talk to the boss. Then we'll have a conversation with Mr. Williams."

_Scene Eight_

"Interview room two," Karen told Jim as Mike escorted Tyree Williams into the squad.

As she stood up and started in the direction of the interview room, Jim raised a hand to stop her. "What does he look like?"

Karen stopped, wondering why he was asking her to repeat what Mike had just told them. "Basically what Mike said – he's a pretty big guy, over six feet, looks like he's been lifting weights."

Jim frowned, knitting his brow.

"What?" Karen asked.

"Nothing," Jim replied. "Let's get in there."

Jim followed Karen into the interview room. From his seat at the table, Williams stared at Jim as he trailed his hand along the wall, found the window sill to his right and leaned against it. Karen stood at the end of the table. "So, Tyree, you know the drill, right?" she asked. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Why don't you just tell us what happened last night?"

"I dunno what you talkin' about. Nothin' 'happened' last night," Williams asserted.

Karen leaned over the table toward him. "Mugging a guy and shooting him – you call that 'nothing'?"

"Dunno nothin' 'bout that," Williams repeated.

"You know, Tyree," Jim spoke up from his place next to the windows, "you need to understand what you're looking at here. The guy you tried to rob last night is dead. You kill someone during a robbery, that's felony-murder – first degree. You're never seeing the outside world again, unless you cooperate."

Williams leaned back, his arms folded.

Karen walked to the side of the table across from Williams, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "You think you're home free, is that it? You think no one can ID you? You better think again. We have a witness – an _eyewitness_."

"Wasn't me," Williams insisted.

"OK," she persisted, "so where were you last night around 11:30?"

"At my girlfriend's."

"Oh, you were at your girlfriend's?" Karen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her disbelief. "Can she confirm that?"

"Sure."

"This girlfriend, does she have a name?"

"Denisha. Denisha Robinson."

Karen pushed the legal pad and pen toward Williams, indicating he should write down Denisha's address and phone number.

As Williams wrote, Jim spoke up again, "What about two nights ago?"

"What about it?"

"You don't remember mugging a blind guy?"

"What?" Williams asked, sounding shocked. "No way. I wouldn't mug no blind guy. That's _low_, man. You ain't gettin' me to go for _that_."

Karen gave him a disgusted look. "OK, let me get this straight. You sell drugs to kids, but you wouldn't mug a blind guy. Right."

Williams glared at her. "Fuck this. I want a lawyer."

"You sure about that?" Jim asked. "You want to help yourself, this is your last chance."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I got nothin' to say."

Jim followed Karen out of the interview room. As he closed the door behind them, Fisk, Marty, and Tom emerged from the observation room. "Are you buying his alibi, boss?" she asked.

Before Fisk could answer, Marty scoffed, "He was with his _girlfriend?_ I don't buy it. They always claim the girlfriend or the wife or the mom can alibi them."

"Yeah, I know," Fisk told him. He turned to Karen. "But check it out anyway."

Karen nodded. "OK, boss. Too bad we couldn't get more out of him before he lawyered up."

"Let me know what the girlfriend says," Fisk ordered as he returned to his office.

_Scene Nine_

Their interview with Denisha Robinson completed, Jim and Karen headed back to the squad. From the driver's seat of the car, Karen looked over at Jim as she waited for the light to change. "You know, Jim," she began hesitantly. Jim turned toward her with a questioning expression. "Marty was way out of line – I mean, what he said about you getting shot."

"It was just Marty being Marty."

"No, really, I don't know why he says stuff like that. It can't have been pleasant, being reminded of what you went through."

"What I 'went through'?'

"Well, yes, after you were shot."

"Don't sweat it, Karen."

She looked doubtful, but knew to drop the subject. "What did you think of the girlfriend?" she asked.

"She seemed pretty credible to me," Jim told her.

"Me, too."

"Maybe Tyree isn't our guy," Jim suggested.

"But the eyewitness – " Karen began.

"I don't know, Karen," Jim interrupted. "She says she didn't get a good look at the guy, then she sees someone in custody in the police station, and all of a sudden she can ID him? Besides, Tyree is too big to be the guy who mugged Pete, and Denisha says he doesn't have asthma. And he's a native New Yorker – no Southern accent. It doesn't add up."

"But, Jim, I have to ask . . . how much can we rely on what Pete told you?"

"Because he couldn't see anything," Jim said wearily, turning away from her.

"That's not what I meant," Karen told him firmly. He turned back toward her with a skeptical expression. "But Pete was under a lot of stress, getting mugged and all . . . I mean, did he really have the presence of mind to estimate the guy's height, plus notice his accent and how he breathed? That's got to take a lot of concentration. . ." Her voice trailed off, questioningly.

"It's not that difficult."

"If you say so."

"I do. I'm gonna call the boss, then let's call it a day."

"OK."

As Jim reported to Fisk on their interview with Denisha, Karen wondered about Jim's reaction to her question about Pete. He seemed unusually touchy when people doubted Pete, almost as if he was taking it personally. Well, it _was _personal, she supposed. The same people who doubted Pete because he was blind would doubt Jim, too. It troubled her that Jim might think she was one of them. After working with Jim for nine months, she thought she'd freed herself from any preconceived ideas about blindness. But had she, really? She sighed and looked at him thoughtfully as he completed his report and closed his phone.

"Boss says we can pick this up in the morning," he told her. "Can you drop me at the F train?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Episode 20: Eyewitness Identification**

_Day Two_

_Scene One_

At mid-morning, the squad assembled in Fisk's office to bring him up to date on the investigation. "We brought in all of the mugging victims – except Dunbar's buddy Pete, of course – and showed them a photo line-up including Tyree's picture," Marty began, as Karen glared at him and Tom shook his head, looking fed up. Jim took a deep breath, his usual impassive expression masking his reaction to Marty's sniping.

Fisk looked annoyed, but merely said, "All right, Russo, don't be a comedian. Get on with it."

"One of them picked him out and said he looked like the mugger. Another one picked out someone else's picture. The other two couldn't ID anyone."

"Lidia Hernandez picked out his photo, too," Tom added.

"Of course she did," Jim pointed out, "she already ID'd him."

Marty shot a look at Jim but said nothing.

"What about the girlfriend?" Fisk asked.

"She can alibi him for last night," Karen replied. "And both Jim and I think she's pretty credible." Jim nodded his agreement. "I mean, she was pretty specific about what they did during the evening, and – I don't know – she just didn't come across like she was making it up."

"That doesn't mean anything," Marty scoffed, "she and Tyree had plenty of time to get their stories straight before he was collared."

"Maybe," Karen conceded, "but he had no idea we were even looking at him for the muggings and the homicide."

"But if he did them – and he did – wouldn't he be sure to have his alibi lined up?" Tom pointed out.

"I guess."

"What about Pete?" Jim asked.

"What about him?" Marty demanded, belligerently.

"Tyree doesn't fit the description of Pete's mugger at all. He's a big, bulky guy. Pete is sure the guy who mugged him was a lot smaller. Plus, Tyree doesn't have asthma – his girlfriend confirmed that – and he doesn't have a Southern accent like Pete heard."

"Well, maybe Pete got mugged by a different guy," Tom suggested.

"Another mugger with the exact same m.o.?" Jim asked, shaking his head. "Not likely."

"I gotta ask you, Jim," Marty began. Jim turned toward Marty and cocked his head, knowing he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because you want Pete to be right? I mean, maybe you want him to be right because he's blind, you know?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just sayin', maybe you want to prove something. But we have the perp in custody and _two_ eyewitnesses. Get real -- what can _Pete_ tell us? It's not like he's an eyewitness, you know."

Jim turned away and bowed his head, looking defeated.

Fisk had heard enough. "That's enough, Marty," he said firmly. Then he addressed the whole squad. "Where do you want to go from here?"

"What's left to do?" Marty demanded. "We've got two eyewitnesses saying Tyree's the guy. That's enough to take to the DA."

"I don't know," Karen said doubtfully. "Saying Tyree 'looks like' the guy doesn't sound like much of an ID to me – plus the fact that Lidia ID'd him after seeing him in custody at the precinct. And what about the other victims who didn't ID him? Besides, we don't have any physical evidence so far to connect Tyree to the homicide, or any of the muggings."

"Jeez, Karen," Marty retorted, "who're you – the guy's damn defense lawyer?"

"Any thoughts, Jim?" Fisk asked, before Karen could respond.

"We got Tyree on tape during the interview, right?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Fisk confirmed.

"I'd like to have Pete listen to the tape, see if he recognizes his voice. Then I want to take him back to the scene, see if Karen can spot anything."

"OK," Fisk agreed, giving Marty a warning look. "Tom, Marty, you get on the lab, see if they got anything from the homicide scene or Tyree's apartment." He dismissed the squad. "Hit it."

_Scene Two_

Jim dropped Hank's harness as he walked in the front door of Pete's apartment. Halfway across the room, he collided with a chair that had never been there before. "What'd you do, Pete, rearrange the furniture?"

"That's right," Pete quipped, "I knew you were coming so I rearranged the furniture."

"You're in a world of trouble, kid, that's assault on a cop," Jim informed him, in his sternest voice.

"C'mon, Detective, you can't bust a blind guy," Pete countered.

"Just doin' my job," Jim told him solemnly. He stepped around the out-of-place chair, then asked, "So, Pete, is there anything else I need to watch out for?"

"No, you're good – really," Pete assured him as he headed for the couch.

Once seated on the couch, Jim reached into his bag for the tape player with the tape of the interview with Tyree Williams. "Ready?" he asked when he found the "Play" button.

"Yeah," Pete replied as the tape began. He listened intently, then shook his head when the interview ended. "It's not the same voice."

"You're sure?" Jim pressed.

"Yeah. The guy's voice was higher, and like I said, he had an accent. It's definitely not the same guy."

"OK," Jim told him. "Let's head out, then."

_Scene Three_

"It was right around here, I think," Pete told them. "We're in the middle of the block, right?"

"Yeah," Karen confirmed, looking around the block of brownstones and small apartment buildings between First Avenue and Avenue A.

"Do you see anywhere the guy could have hidden?" Jim asked.

"Why would he need to hide?"

"C'mon, Karen." Jim didn't try to hide the irritation in his voice. "The guy had no way of knowing a blind guy would come along. He had to make sure no one would spot him."

"I know, Jim, but that's not what I meant. This street would have been pretty empty at that time of night, and it's not very well-lit. It would have been easy to conceal himself."

Jim waved a hand dismissively. "OK, but look around anyway."

Karen scanned the nearby buildings. "The building two doors down has a stairwell going down to the basement, under the stairs to the first floor. He could have hidden there."

Jim turned to Pete. "You were heading in this direction, east toward Avenue A, right?"

"Yeah," Pete confirmed.

"And he came up from behind you?"

"Yeah."

"Did you hear what direction he went after?"

"Sorry, no, I was out of it."

"Okay," Karen said, "I'll look in both directions. But what, exactly, am I looking for?"

"I don't know," Jim told her, "anything that might have a connection to the guy."

Karen sighed, feeling that she was just humoring Jim, and her efforts would be futile. "I'll start at the corner and work back in this direction." Resignedly, she walked away from Jim and Pete. When she reached the corner, she began systematically searching the sidewalk, curbs and building fronts, finding nothing but meaningless litter. In the stairwells, the trash cans were empty from the morning's garbage collection.

As she approached the middle of the block, Karen interrupted her search to look over at Jim and Pete standing next to the line of parked cars along the curb. Something about Jim's body language told her he was at ease, as relaxed as she'd ever seen him. Their voices were too low for her to make out any words, but as she watched them, Jim smiled at something Pete said. Karen felt left out, as if the two blind men were sharing something she couldn't be a part of. As the only woman in a squad of male detectives, she often felt left out, but this was different, somehow. Then she reminded herself Jim was the odd man out in the squad, too. No matter how many cases he cleared, his blindness would always set him apart from the others. Marty had proved that again, that morning.

She passed Jim and Pete and continued her search. In the stairwell she'd pointed out as a possible hiding place, something light-colored caught her eye. When she picked it up, she recognized it as an inhaler – the kind used by asthmatics. She carefully placed it in a plastic evidence bag, then called out to Jim.

"I got something."

"What is it?" Jim asked as he hurried toward her, followed closely by Pete.

"An asthma inhaler."

Jim grinned at her. "Don't get smug, Dunbar," she cautioned him. "It's in pretty bad shape, no telling how long it's been there. And there aren't any markings on it to tell us who it belonged to."

"Since when have you been taking lessons from Russo?" he countered.

Karen ignored him. "Let's get this over to the lab and have them check it out."

_Scene Four_

Fisk sighed as he hung up the phone and walked out of his office. He sat at the desk opposite Jim's before he spoke. "Anything from the lab on the scene or the apartment?"

"Not really," Tom told him. "There were no shell casings at the scene, and the lab says the gun found in Tyree's apartment is not the one used in the homicide."

"No surprise – he had plenty of time to get rid of it," Marty pointed out.

Tom resumed. "There were no credit cards or anything belonging any of the victims in the apartment. There was about four grand in cash, but there's no way of telling if any of it's from the muggings. It could be from his drug sales."

"Well, I just talked to the DA, and she says we need more than just the witness IDs before she can file," Fisk informed the squad.

"You gotta be kidding!" Marty exploded.

"No, I'm not," Fisk assured him. "She doesn't think the IDs are solid enough to get a conviction on the homicide or the muggings, without some other evidence to connect Tyree to the crimes. But he will stay in custody, at least until he can make bail on the drug charges."

"Damn, I know he's good for it," Marty insisted.

"Then get me something more to give the DA," Fisk told him as he returned to his office.

After Fisk closed his office door, Marty turned to Jim, "You happy now, Dunbar?" he demanded.

Karen and Tom exchanged exasperated looks. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked, before Jim could respond.

"If eyewitness IDs aren't enough – people who actually saw the guy – I guess we need Dunbar or his buddy Pete to sniff out the perp. Dunbar should be happy about that."

"Give it a rest, man," Tom snapped. Karen gave Jim a worried look as he reached for his earpiece in grim silence and went back to work on his report.

_Scene Five_

"You're pretty quiet this evening, Jim," Dr. Cohen observed, as the end of the session approached.

He turned toward the psychologist, wondering – not for the first time – what she looked like. In spite of Christie's description of Dr. Cohen as "gray-haired and motherly," he had never developed a good visual image of her. Still, there was something about her – perhaps the warmth and calmness of her voice – that had made him feel comfortable talking to her, almost from the beginning. But, like Dr. Galloway, she didn't let him duck difficult issues if she felt he needed to address them. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say," he replied with a tight smile.

"Of course, you don't have to talk if you don't want to, but something is troubling you, isn't it?"

Jim turned away from her and bowed his head.

"Jim?" she prodded gently.

"Look, it isn't anything about Christie and me, so let's just let it go, OK?"

"All right. But you know, Jim, if something's bothering you, it's going to affect Christie, too, one way or another."

Christie took his hand. "She's right, you know. Whatever's bothering you, it's OK, you can tell me."

Jim pulled his hand away and rested his chin on his folded hands. When he raised his head, he asked, "Doctor, have you ever counseled any other blind people, before me?"

"I have. Several years ago. Is that what this is about?"

He shook his head. "Not the blindness. I can handle that. _We_ can handle it. But – "

Christie took his hand again. "But what?"

"Other people – you know."

Christie nodded to herself. "I know," she said quietly. She understood only too well what Jim was referring to. She sighed.

Dr. Cohen spoke up. "I'm guessing this isn't new, Jim. Why is it bothering you now?"

"It's a case I've been working," Jim explained. "One of the victims is a blind kid – someone I know." He turned to Christie. "You remember me telling you about Pete Steckle?"

"Yes, of course."

Jim continued, "None of the other detectives would even listen to him. What could a blind guy tell them, anyway?"

"You're feeling marginalized by other people's attitudes toward blindness," Dr. Cohen suggested.

Jim managed a small grin. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way, exactly – but, yes."

"Sorry about the jargon. Please continue."

He frowned, then said, "I should be used to it by now, I don't know why it got to me this time – "

"But, Jimmy," Christie pointed out, "you've worked with these guys for nine months now, they know you and what you can do. You don't expect them to be like that – not after all the cases you've cleared."

He turned toward her, nodding, "Yeah, I guess so."

"You do know, don't you, Jim," Dr. Cohen told him, "this isn't about you, it's about them."

"Yeah? It doesn't feel that way."

"I know. But it is. I know it's not enough to say it's their problem. You have to deal with it, so that makes it your problem, too. But you're not the one with the problem, they are. Remember that."

Jim checked his watch. "Looks like our time is up."

"Yes, it is," Dr. Cohen confirmed. "See you next week." She looked thoughtfully at Jim and Christie as they walked out, arm in arm.

When they reached the sidewalk outside Dr. Cohen's office, Christie stopped. Surprised by her sudden stop, Jim stumbled slightly and bumped against her. "Sorry," she told him, "but we need to talk. Something really is bothering you. I haven't seen you like this since – well, in a long time."

Jim shrugged. "I'm OK, really."

"Jimmy – " she cajoled.

"It's just – you know, being blind sucks, sometimes." He turned away and bowed his head.

Christie looked at her husband, knowing how painful that admission was for him. "What happened?" she asked, gently.

"Like I told Dr. Cohen, it's this case. Everyone else thought Pete was a useless witness, because he couldn't see anything." He grimaced, and when he spoke again, his voice had a bitter overtone. "I've been kidding myself, ever since I went back on the job. It doesn't make any difference that I can clear cases. I can't see – that's the only thing that matters to any of them."

"Oh, Jimmy," Christie began. She fell silent when she realized she didn't know what to say. She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder, hoping her touch would communicate what she couldn't say.

Jim continued, "And Russo's been on my case for the past couple of days. We don't exactly agree about the case, and he decided to remind me I can't see, every chance he got – like I need a reminder." He bowed his head and turned away from her again.

"Dr. Cohen was right, you know," Christie told him. "He's the one with the problem. He hates it that you proved him wrong. And he knows you're a better detective – blind – than he'll ever be. He can't stand it. That's all it is."

"I guess," Jim agreed reluctantly, turning back toward her, "but I thought we had an – understanding. I don't know what set him off."

"Whatever it was, you shouldn't have to take that – not from Marty or anyone."

Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "That's not all," he said. "The victim in our case got shot in the head, but he was still awake and talking when they got him to the hospital, and Karen asked how that could happen. So Marty says she should ask me about it, I'm the expert, and I probably gave a full statement on the way to the hospital after I got shot."

"That son of a bitch." Christie whispered, revisiting – unwillingly – the worst day of her life.

"You got that right. But I'm not going anywhere. Marty'll just have to deal with it. And so will I."

"No," Christie corrected him, "_we_ will."

Jim reached out for Christie and drew her toward him. She put her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and kissed her lightly on the forehead, then said, "Let's go home."

_Epilogue_

_Two Days Later_

"Hey, Jim," Mike Ciccone called out as Jim and Hank entered the 8th Precinct.

"What's up?" Jim replied.

"We caught another mugging last night."

"Same m.o.?"

"Yep."

"I'll be damned. Tyree Williams still in custody?"

"Last I heard. But you haven't heard the best part yet," Mike told him. "A group of college kids were coming home from a party and saw the mugging in progress. They chased the guy and gang-tackled him. He's in a holding cell, waiting to go to Central Booking."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope. Scout's honor."

"What does he look like?" Jim asked.

"Scrawny little guy, but he looks a little like Tyree Williams in the face. Got quite a rap sheet – out of Alabama. And you'll never guess what we found on him."

"An asthma inhaler?"

"You got it."

"Sweet. Thanks, Mike."

As he ordered Hank forward and headed for the elevator, Jim smiled to himself. He wiped the smile off his face only when the elevator doors opened on the second floor.


End file.
